


Few hearts to cheer him through his dangerous life

by jiokra



Category: Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Coda, Community: 15kisses, F/M, Kissing, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-23 18:19:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11407923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jiokra/pseuds/jiokra
Summary: Anne's dramatic reading of Barry Cornwall's "The Fisherman" during class inspires Gilbert to daydream.





	Few hearts to cheer him through his dangerous life

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the poem! Fill for 15kisses square "thoughtful."

“Perilous indeed. Sit down,” said Mr. Phillips, the spirited scowl not on his visage but in his voice. “New girl. Up. Continue.”

Anne arose—and she _continued._

“ _O’er the wild waters labouring, far from home,_  
_For some bleak pittance e’er compelled to roam:_  
_Few hearts to cheer him through his dangerous life,_  
_And none to aide him in the stormy strife :_ ”

Gilbert hadn’t anticipated for Anne to present the mere ink in her book with such vivid flourish, as if every word reverberated within her chest and burst with a significance she’d been privy to and now gifted the schoolhouse. She breathed poetics into a tired narrative, the ideas once in her head now transposed among them. A smooth, unhindered reading always calmed Gilbert, and her flair reminded him of the theater, not only a recitation of words on a page but the life of it uplifted into the air they breathed.

She flung out a hand, diving into the text and embodying it, and his gaze wandered over the scrawny knobs and curves from her wrist to her collarbones, lingering at the glimpses beneath her burgundy coat. He’d never understood the current fascination with puff sleeves as older styles with their tighter patterns embraced figures, lending less to the imagination. The dark brown and red suited her, he thought, complimenting the amber of her hair and the bewitching freckles on seemingly every inch of her face.

“ _Companion of the sea and silent air,  
The lonely fisher thus must ever fare :”_

Her voice bellowed into a cacophonous crescendo, and truly her speech stuck him as art. She’d make a fine elocutionist in a concert recital, he thought. Her whole body seemed to quiver through a somber stretch of words, and it hit him with the image of backing her up against an apple tree in his family’s orchard. It sprung to mind without him truly realizing it, too enraptured by her reading, but his wandering thoughts conjured a fruitful fantasy. In the autumn breeze, deep maroon leaves rained, getting caught in Anne’s scarlet hair. She held a book to her chest—Virgil, perhaps—and when Gilbert plucked it from her grasp, her eyebrows furrowed in irritation, not true annoyance but a feigned effort to skirt the intensity that thrummed between them. He quirked his head, asking, “Oh, sorry, was this yours?” She stretched like now during the reading to snatch the book, and that was when Gilbert bent down, smiling as his lips brushed against hers—

Or not, he thought, once the daydream’s image fully hit him.

Nevertheless, he could imagine laying beneath the tree with Anne, such as after a long, hearty picnic that left them in a stupor. She would read from a book of poems with as much life and passion as now. She’d lose herself into the rhythms and rhymes, that elation burbling in class truly bursting once surrounded by the limitless expanse of nature. A wind swept past, pages fluttering and causing her to lose her place, but the reading only swelled to greater heights as memorization took over. She’d be so cute and endearing. He’d feel an inexplicable pull to shift ever closer. And the reading had her so enraptured, she wouldn’t realize he had come to brace over her until his lips brushed against hers. Stunned, she still continued to recite, though softly at a whisper, yet the hand holding the book fell. But once Gilbert pressed harder against her, cutting her off with a kiss, she snatched up the hair at the back of his head and kept him locked in place above her. Her kiss turned so fierce that Gilbert bit at her in retaliation, neither fully cognizant of their actions.

Charlie Sloane shifted, and on reflex Gilbert leaned toward him and said, strained, “She’s good. Invested.”

“ _Without the comfort, hope,—with scarce a friend,  
He looks through life, and only sees—its end !_ ”

At his first glance of the poem, he hated that line. It reminded him too much of his father and their travels to Alberta and bidding a final farewell to family before his father looked through life and only saw its end. But when Anne read the poem, it made him feel whole. Made him forget. He was grateful for that.

Silence enveloped the schoolhouse, and the memory of her voice lingered like the burn of liquor long after being swallowed. Gilbert savored it.

Giggles broke out at the girls’ half of the room, rippling across the aisle like the first licks of seawater at the shoreline before the big wave hit.

Gilbert flinched.

They were laughing at her. At her beautiful rendition.

For the sliver of a second, he felt ashamed for enjoying Anne’s reading, as perhaps his taste had been mistaken. Then he blanched, revolted. There was _nothing_ wrong with Anne.

The laughter slapped at his back, and with dawning horror, he watched as the exhilaration on Anne’s face from the poem morphed into joy at perceived comradery. She grinned wide for all the teeth too big for her face to show. Her smile was beautiful, but he couldn’t look. For once, he couldn’t look at her. His gaze burned holes into his desk.

“Sweet merciful Lord,” said Mr. Phillips, the mirth in his voice diluted.

“That was really different,” said one of the girls. He didn’t know who—a lie, the girl was Ruby Gillis.

He glanced at Anne, catching sight of her shrunken and flushed, and wished he hadn’t.

“Josie Pye,” drawled Mr. Phillips. “Read Campbell’s _Pleasures of Hope,_ ‘The Downfall of Poland.’”


End file.
